The Division - New Orleans
by 13en-writes-all
Summary: Following the attack on New York, the next target for the Dollar Flu is New Orleans. With the city in chaos, and the JTF struggling to keep the peace, a wave of Division Agents is activated to keep the peace. But after their helicopter into the city is shot down, only a few survive, and now this small band must retake the city. Rated M for violence, language, and suggestive themes
1. Activation

**Part 1 – Activation**

Following the Division's stint in New York, the man that invented the "Dollar Flu" dead, the rogue agent, Arron Keener has disappeared completely, and the Division now spoken in hushed whispers, they retreated back into society, waiting for the call…

Jimmy's Downhome Bar on Main Street, a place in Kansas City you can come, have a beer, get some good old-fashion Kansas-City Barbeque, maybe a sandwich, and enjoy some nice company.

The bar had been originally opened during Prohibition as a Speakeasy, then following Prohibition, it fell to a private owner, and it changed faces multiple times.

The waitresses wore corsets, skirts, and mid-ankle high boots, the waiters wore leather waist-coats, white shirts, jeans, and leather boots.

The bartenders wore similar outfits, save for the fact they wore leather ivy caps.

With New York now stable, and most agents now living their regular lives, most people were talking about what they would do if the person next to them suddenly got a signal on a strange watch they wear on their wrists.

James Staten, the head bartender mixing a cosmopolitan while he was talking to his underlying bartender, Ben Jaeger, "Can you honestly believe what they said," he asked, "Some kind of secret sleeper cell on American Soil? What made the government not trust their citizens enough to implant a sleeper cell here?"

Ben Jaeger was a six-foot-three Caucasian male with clean-cut brown hair, blue eyes, and an unusually redish-hued stubble.

"I don't know," Ben said as he double-poured two martinis into their requisite glasses, and pushed them across the bar to the two ladies that ordered them, "I saw a lot of crazy shit over in Afghanistan. Lots of behind-closed-doors crap, especially with the upper-echelon type of soldiers."

"You were a soldier," one of the girls asked.

"Nine years in, U.S. Army," Ben said.

"I was married to a soldier once," the girl on the right said as she sipped on her drink.

"Was," Ben asked as he mixed a tonic and gin for the guy sitting next to the two girls, "Past-tense?"

"He joined one of those Special Forces outfits, and we got a divorce," the girl said, "All I left him, in the end, was a house and a chair."

"Way harsh," Ben said as he poured a glass of beer for another customer sitting at the other end of the bar.

"I know I'd be pissed after that," James said.

"Who wouldn't," Ben asked, "You take a man's possessions, and leave him with a chair?"

"It was mutual," the girl said, "We both changed when he took the job."

"Military life is hard," Ben said, "My parents found it hard to accept when I joined. But they helped me pay for college, and it gave me a place where I belonged."

"Plus they taught you some great skills," James said before pointing his thumb at Ben, "Our boy here worked in the kitchen out on Kandahar Airfield. This guy can make an ordinary can of spam taste like a gourmet meal."

"You cook," the girl asked, "What were you doing tossing grenades instead of salads?"

"They needed someone to man the kitchen while the cook was out," Ben said, "Besides, you tell them you're a cook, and they'll make you a rifleman."

"You should have lied," James said, "It surely would have been a lot easier."

"Maybe," Ben said as he continued his rounds.

The bar was in the graveyard zone sometime around 8:30, by the time most of the customers had left, only about four were left by the time that 8:49 rolled around.

"What'd you think of that girl that talked about her former husband," James asked.

"She was cute," Ben said as he scrubbed out the double old-fashion whiskey glass that once belonged to a man that sat at the end of the bar to drink away his daily workplace worries, "But I sort of have a bit of a stink about women that can do that to their husbands, even if they were gone most of the time, and they weren't really talking."

"Why are you so adamant about that specifically," James asked as he handed a glass of water to the patron that was halfway buzzed on vodka.

"Because people involved in Special Forces are always in a tough position," Ben said as he began cleaning the bar in front of him, "The guys that are sent out can spend weeks on end without talking to their loved ones, and when they're deployed the only contact they have with their families is what they can squeeze in."

"It must be tough being a soldier," James said as he poured the halfway buzzed patron another glass of water, and handed it to him, "What was it like for you?"

"Me," Ben asked as he adjusted his tie, "It was difficult, to say the least. Half of our time was spent out in the field, and when we were on base, it was always in the back of our minds that at any moment we could come under attack."

"You kept weapons on you," James said as he handed a double scotch off to the man at the very end of the bar, "I'm surprised you were that concerned with attacks."

"The fighters over there were relentless," Ben said, "They would have done anything to kill Americans. It was hell, but it was our job, so we had no room to argue."

"I take it you didn't even want to argue," James asked.

"Nope," Ben said.

"Probably wise," James said, "I might have been a Marine, but even we knew you Army Boys were not all talk. By the way, how goes it with you and Sarah?"

"We're talking," Ben said, "She and James moved in with her parents. I suppose it might be for the best, maybe getting away from the city will help us."

"They settled in Chicago," James asked.

"That's where her parents live," Ben said, "And it's nowhere near New York."

"You think New York will ever be the same," James asked.

"Never," Ben said, "Whenever an event like this happens, the bombings in 1993, 9/11, Hurricane Sandy, it all ends up changing the face of the city altogether. Life might return to normal in NYC, but it'll never be the same as it was before the outbreak."

"You think something like that might happen to this town," James asked.

"You never know what's going to happen when a psychopath gets a hold of a dangerous weapon like the Dollar Flu," Ben said, "Gordon Amherst invented the disease as a means of 'natural selection', which goes to show that most people who have access to these kinds of labs are something that needs to be addressed. When someone has that type of personality and is handed the keys to a deadly disease then something like that is bound to happen."

"How do you know all that," James asked.

Ben knew he had screwed up there, but he put on a straight face and said, "I've got some friends in the Department of Defense," he then went to clean out a beer mug, "They told me a few things about the situation in New York."

"Indeed," James said as he began working on a whiskey and coke for one of the few patrons they had sitting at the bar, "For a second there, you had me thinking you could be some kind of secret agent."

The two of them looked up at the TV, and on it was the growing situation in New Orleans: the Dollar Flu had hit there, and the Joint Task Force consisting of the Louisiana National Guard, the New Orleans Police, and the hospitals around town were struggling to keep the peace.

The Louisiana Daily reporter, Michelle Ripley was standing on the opposite side of the Mississippi River from the city, "There is still no word on the status of the Joint Task Force that went into the city, so far it's been two weeks since any contact was made from the other side of the river," she said, "So far the only sounds we hear coming from inside the barricades set up by the National Guard to keep anyone from leaving are sporadic periods of rapid gunfire and explosions. We so far have not seen any real indications of the situation getting better or worse, and when asked for comment, the National Guard refused to comment."

The anchor then posed a question, "Michelle," he said, "Just from your point of view, is there any indication that the JTF has any handle on the situation?"

"From my point of view," Michelle asked before pointing at the city, "Right now, most of the city is under lockdown, but nothing so far seems to be changing, and nothing seems to be stable."

"Shitty situation," James said, "I'm sorry for everyone trapped inside, I'm just glad we don't have to be."

"Yep," Ben said as he handed another beer off to the patron in front of him who was waiting on his cab before that mysterious watch on his wrist glowed orange.

"What's that," James asked as he pointed at Ben's watch.

"That would be my calling card," Ben said as he walked out from behind the bar, "I have to go."

 _Ben's House_ …

A small two-bedroom house in Washington Weatley with a small basement, Ben went straight for the phone beside his bed, and dialed the number that's so top secret that if anyone were to share it, it would be considered committing treason, and the person that gave the number away would be thrown into a super-max for the rest of their lives.

"Standby while we connect you to a secure line," the automated voice over the other line as the phone went silent for one minute before a woman came over the line.

"Begin voice recognition," she said.

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought onto this world a new continent, a new nation, conceived by Liberty," Ben said.

"Stand by for voice identification," she said before there was a loud beep, and a buzzing sound, "Identity confirmed: what's your status, Agent Jaeger?"

"Green, ma'am," Ben said.

"Good, because there's a lot of work to do," she said.

"New Orleans," Ben asked.

"Yes," she said, "The JTF is struggling to keep peace in the city. Right now, the city's in a power struggle: locals who have taken to looting just to survive, religious zealots who believe that the Dollar Flu is a sign, men who have taken the Confederate flag in the name of the south, and a paramilitary gang that have taken up arms, and taken over a major portion of the city."

"Is there any news on the agents in New York," Ben asked.

"They have to stay in New York for now," she said, "Right now we have senior agents waiting in New Orleans, but we need more agents if we're going to secure the city."

"When am I going in," Ben asked.

"As soon as you get your gear," she said, "They'll be a truck coming to get you, and a plane waiting at the airport. Good look, Agent."

Ben hung up the phone and descended the stairs to his basement.

The basement was twelve feet by twelve feet, and had all the amenities of a small gym: punching bag, treadmill, and a yoga matt.

Right next to the punching bag was a large case meant for clothes, and after pushing it aside, it revealed a hidden locker behind it.

Ben held his smart-watch up to the small device mounted to the front of the case, after five seconds.

The leather coat he put on would be perfect in the January weather down in New Orleans, the ammo case on the ground of the locker held his .45 Mk23 Mod 0, his ISAC Brick, and the rifle case in the slot next to where his jacket hung was for his main weapon.

After attaching his ISAC Brick to the shoulder-strap of his backpack, he pressed a small button, and it sprung to life.

"Isaac, you there buddy," Ben asked.

"I am active," ISAC said, "Welcome back, Agent Jaeger."

 _Guess what'll happen_ …


	2. Deployment

**Part 2 – Start-Up**

The flight to New Orleans was a tense one to say the least, a big empty plane where he slept most of the way with only his rifle to keep him company.

On final approach to the city, Ben had no idea what he was in for as the plane set down on the tarmac.

As he exited the plane, there was a single M1114 HMMWV UAH waiting for him with 'JTF' written on the side.

"Division," the JTF officer asked as he walked up to Ben.

"Yep," Ben said, "Which way are we going?"

"That way," the JTF officer said as he pointed off in the direction of the city.

As they walked toward the HMMWV, Ben noticed that no one was sitting in the back, so he opened the door, and slid his weapon-case into the back seat.

As he climbed into the front seat, the JTF officer spoke up, "As of right now, the first wave of your agents have gone silent. Right now we don't know where they are or if they're alive."

"So I'm part of the second wave then," Ben asked.

"In a sense," the JTF officer said.

"In a sense," Ben asked.

"We had a few more enter after half the First Wave went silent," the JTF officer said, "They went in with advanced equipment, but we didn't hear from them. We have no idea about what's going on, yet."

"Yet," Ben asked.

"We will," the JTF officer said, "As soon as we enter the city."

"How many agents have flown in since before I got here," Ben asked.

"Right now about thirty have shown up," the JTF officer said.

"Weapons," Ben asked.

"A bunch of M4s, some MP5s, a few HK416s," the JTF officer said.

"Good," Ben said, "I was beginning to think there would be other snipers."

"You're a sniper," the JTF officer asked.

"Yes," Ben said, "Why?"

"There's been talk of a sniper in the city that flies under the banner of the New Confederate Armed Brigade," the JTF officer said.

"The New Confederate Armed Brigade," Ben asked.

"Yes," the JTF officer said, "A bunch of southern boys and girls who have rallied under the Confederate colors in the name of reforming New Orleans under the name of the old state leaders."

Pulling up to the staging area where the other agents were waiting, Ben could tell several of these agents were primarily Afghanistan and Iraq veterans who had become cops or firefighters, or even medics.

As he stepped out of the HMMWV, and opened the back door to retrieve his rifle, he heard the clopping of boots on the ground behind him as another agent strolled up to him.

"Agent Jaeger," a five-foot-nine Caucasian-Chinese male with red hair and blue eyes in his early thirties said as he walked up to him.

"That's me," Ben said.

"Darius Cook," he said as he held out his hand which Ben shook, "I'm the Division Commander for the operation that's going into New Orleans."

"Sir," Ben said as he nodded his head, to which Darius ushered him to follow, "What's our plan for when we enter the city?"

"Right now," Commander Cook said as they entered the nearest tent where several Division Agents were waiting, "The plan is to establish a foothold," in front of them was a holographic map of the quarantined area of New Orleans, to which he pointed to the Superdome, "Right now the JTF have the Superdome secured as a temporary stronghold, but Ray Clark, the head of the JTF went radio silent earlier this morning so we don't know his status."

"Then we're going to find out," Ben said.

"You're damn right we are," Commander Cook said, "Right now our focus is getting into the city. With what happened to the Division Commander in New York, command is not authorizing any flights in or out of the city."

"What about the ferries," Ben asked as he pointed at the river, "They still run?"

"They might need a little work," one of the agents said as he walked up to the table, "The mayor ordered them to be shut down when Martial Law was declared so no one could get in or out."

"Agent Ben Jaeger," Darius said as he pointed at the agent, "This is Division Agent Amos Adams."

"You can call me Ben," he said as he shook Agent Adam's hand.

Agent Adams had to be at least six-foot-five, he was Polynesian, Hawaiian probably on a count of his bronze skin tone, and the visible Samoan tattoos on his neck that appeared to run down to his wrist.

"Call me Amos," he said, "It's been about three months since they were ordered shut down. Three months of not running, nasty river water, and cold weather don't mix that well."

"Is there a way to fix them," Darius asked.

"There is," Amos said, "But I'd have to take a closer look at them."

"You're a mechanic," Ben asked.

"I was one of the engineers aboard the U.S.S. Freedom," Amos said, "I know a thing or two about engines."

"Think we could move all the agents on one of them," Darius asked.

"I bet we could," Amos said, "We'd be pretty exposed on the water, but I bet we could pull it off."

"We'll have to risk it," Darius said, "Get on it."

"With your permission sir, I'd like to go with him," Ben said.

"I was about to suggest that," Darius said, "But I'm not keen on sending you two out there by yourselves," he looked at one of the agents standing by the door, "Agent Lee," he called, causing the woman to turn around to see her commander, "Front and center."

The woman that entered the tent was about five-foot-five, she had a head of black hair that was kept tied back in a ponytail, she was Polynesian-Chinese mix, but by the way her ponytail was tied, Ben could guess she was from Southern California.

"Agents Jaeger, Adams," Darius said, "This is Division Agent Chloe Lee," he then pointed at Ben and Amos, "Agent Lee, these are Agents Ben Jaeger and Amos Adams. I have an assignment for the three of you."

"What's the job," Chloe asked.

"We need to get the ferries back up and running," Darius said, "It might be the only safe way back into New Orleans at the moment. Right now we don't know what state they're in, so I'm sending you three to see what shape they're in, and if need be, repair them."

"By the book," Amos asked.

"Forget the book," Darius said, "If you're engaged, then split some wigs."

"We're going to need some wig splitting weapons," Chloe said.

"I've already got mine," Ben said.

"I'll go get mine," Amos said.

"And I'll get one of my own," Chloe said.

Ben followed Chloe and Amos to the weapon's tent set up nearby, where the two of them made a b-line for opposite weapon racks.

Ben simply placed his rifle case down on the table, and undid the locks.

The weapon that Amos picked up off the shelf was a belt-fed Ares-16 AMG-1 with a custom bullet holder that was made of black metal, on the top was a Trijicon ACOG scope, on the side was a flashlight, on the other, a PEQ GP959 laser and infrared designator, and mounted underneath the barrel was an M203.

The weapon chosen by Chloe was an HK416 with a 10-inch barrel, a Magpul CTR stock, a DBAL D2 laser, a flashlight, a Trijicon MRO sight, and a Magpul RVG.

The two of them walked over to find Ben preparing a McMillian TAC-338 with a custom grip, and an Intervention-style carrying handle attached to the bottom of it.

"Lovely rifle," Chloe said as Ben slid the scope onto the top rail, "Custom?"

"Very," Ben said as he grabbed the rifle by the area the carrying handle was mounted to, and lifted it up, the rifle didn't teeter left or right before putting it down, "The handle is designed to balance the weight of the rifle so it stays stable during firing."

"What about the grips," Amos asked.

"You mean the scales," Ben asked as he reached down to squeeze the grip between his thumb and forefinger, "100% pure Walrus tusk."

"Walrus tusk," Amos asked, "That's a little weird."

"They're repurposed," Ben said as he attached a rifle strap to the two clips on the stock.

"Repurposed," Chloe asked, "From what?"

"The ivory my grandfather out on his 1911," Ben said, "He served in Korea, then 'Nam. When he got home, he brought home his old service pistol, found an old Walrus tusk his grandfather brought back from one of the first U.S. missions to explore the Bering Strait, and had them made into grips for his 1911."

"Then you plucked them off his 1911 and slapped them onto your rifle," Amos asked as he reached onto the weapon rack, and pulled out a Glock 19 with a desert tan finish.

"Not exactly," Ben said as he pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a nasty four-inch scar on his inner-forearm, "He passed away shortly before I was asked to join the Division. After he died, my dad, my brother, and I were going through my grandfather's belongings when we came across the box with the remaining tusk still in it. My brother and I were arguing over it, but when it came time to bring the box down, my brother was handing it to me when it slipped out of the box, and the rough edge damn-near split my forearm open. It hit the floor, cracked in two, and he decided he didn't want it."

"So you decided to use it to on your rifle," Chloe asked as she pulled a Sig Sauer M17 off the weapon rack.

"After I was asked to join the Division, they asked me what I would like to keep with me as my main firearm," Ben said, "When I chose this rifle they told me to take it away to personalize it. With the ivory split in two, I took it to a specialized gunsmith who filed down the grips, put a half-inch hole through it, and attached the grips two it."

"Then you fitted the carrying handle," Amos asked as he strapped a series of bullet-carrying tins to his belt, and hooked a few 40mm grenades to his vest.

"Yep," Ben said as he slid on a tactical vest that he slid a few magazines for his TAC into, "It's a carbon fiber core covered in a cast-iron casing that's attached to the case via a quarter-inch diameter screw."

"That adds what," Chloe asked as she slid several twenty-round clips into special pockets inside her jacket, "About three pounds?"

"Two and three-quarters," Ben said, "It had to be no more and no less than that exact weight."

"Helps off-set the weight of everything else, including the scope," Amos said.

"Exactly," Ben said as he picked up his rifle, "Alright, it's time to get out there."

"There's a HMMWV outside," Chloe said, "I'm sure the JTF won't mind if we borrow it for a little while."

"Let's go," Amos said.

As the three of them walked outside, Darius was standing there waiting for them, "You three look like a real strike team," he said, "That's what I want to see."

"You're here to see us off," Amos asked.

"That would be a nope," Darius said as he handed Ben an Orion flare gun, "As soon as you confirm that the ferry is safe, you send up one orange flare, and we'll come to you."

"Roger that," Ben said as he strapped the flare gun to his backpack, and the team walked over to the HMMWV where they found the keys in the ignition, and room for their weapons.

"I'm driving," Chloe said as she walked around to the driver's seat.

"Then I get shotgun," Ben said as he stepped into the front passenger's chair.

Amos climbed into the back, and as the door closed, the three of them started off toward the river.

 _Guess what happens next_ …


	3. First Battle of Memphis

***Before we start, I would like to say I changed the name of the girl I mentioned in the first chapter from Emily to Sarah, so please don't be confused…**

 **Part 3 – First Battle of Memphis**

It was about a five-minute drive to get to the ferry terminal where two men dressed in a gray hoodies, jeans, sneakers, and had bandanas covering their mouths.

They were both carrying 9mm handguns, and didn't look in a mood to talk.

"Options," Amos asked.

"Options," Ben asked, "Do they look like they want to talk?"

"I'm going to talk to them," Chloe said as she put his HK416 away, "Keep me covered."

"This is a bad idea," Ben said.

"Trust me on this one," Chloe said, "I'm going in."

Ben exhaled strongly before looking at Amos, "I don't like this," he said.

"She knows what she's doing," Amos said before raising his Ares-16, "Just in case."

Chloe approached the two men with her hands raised, "What do you want," one of them asked as he raised his pistol to her.

"Take it easy," the other said as he walked up to her, "What can we do for you?"

"We need to get across the river," Chloe said.

"The river is restricted territory," he said, "Look, if I were you, I'd turn around, and head back to wherever you came from."

"Look, I have to cross the river," Chloe said, "My daughter's in that city."

"Our families are in there," he said, "Look, you need to go before…" he then noticed the ISAC brick on her shoulder, "DIVISION," he then raised his pistol to her, but before he could do anything, a small hole opened just above his right eye, and the back of his head exploded in a shower of blood and fragments of skull.

His pistol fell from his grip, and he staggered backwards before falling flat on his back, dead.

The second saw his friend fall, and raised his to fire, only for a line of bloody explosions to tear their way across his chest.

Ben and Amos came walking out from behind their cover to see Chloe turn around to look at them, "You two do realize you could have killed me," she asked.

"Wouldn't happen," Ben said as he hung his rifle over his shoulder, "We're professional," he then walked past the bodies toward the ferry, "Let's move."

As they approached the ferry, Amos's first stop was the engine bay underneath the main seating area which was covered in a heavy pad lock and chain.

"Well that's a small obstacle," Amos said.

"I got this," Ben said as he put his rifle up to the lock, "Shield your eyes," they turned away, putting their hands over their eyes, and as he pulled the trigger, the padlock damn near exploded.

"Nice one," Amos said as he removed the chain, and walked inside to get a good look at the engine.

"You take the lower deck," Ben said, "I'm gonna go up high."

Ben proceeded up the stairs to the top sitting area where he had a decent view of the area around them.

"I'm in position," Chloe said over her headset.

"Same here," Ben said as he took a look around the area with his scope, "Scope's clear, any activity down there?"

"Negative" Chloe said, "Everything's green."

"Amos," Ben said, "How's it looking down there?"

"Engine's in pretty decent shape," Amos said, "The sparkplugs are a little worn, so they need to be replaced, and the oil inside is old and needs some fresh oil to run properly."

"Don't suppose you have any of that in your pocket," Ben asked.

"There were some spares in the HMMWV," Amos said as he walked out of the engine bay, "I'll go get what we need."

It was then that Ben felt a buzzing in his pocket where he kept his phone, as he pulled it out, he saw it was from Sarah, "I have a call coming in," he said, "Give me a moment."

"Go ahead," Chloe said, "I've got Amos covered."

Ben opened the call, "Sarah," he asked.

"Hey," Sarah said over the other line, "I've been meaning to call. I wasn't sure I should."

"I'm really glad you did," Ben said as he put his rifle down on the seats in front of him, "How's James?"

"He's fine, he's enjoying his new school," Sarah said, and he likes hanging around his grandparents."

"Does he miss me," Ben asked.

"We both do," Sarah said, "It's not easy for either of us."

"Me neither," Ben said, "I know I haven't always been there for you, or James."

"I know Military life is hard," Sarah said, "Especially being on standby. I wish we could have worked out what happened before we decided to separate."

"So do I," Ben said, "Sarah, I know I don't say this enough but I'm sorry about what happened."

"So am I," Sarah said, "I know we've had our ups and downs, but I want to try and work it out. I think we should get together and talk. This weekend?"

"That's be great, really great," Ben said, "But this weekend is…"

"No," Sarah said, "This is a bad idea."

"No, Sarah it's the best idea you've ever had," Ben said.

"As opposed to all my other ideas which haven't been so good," Sarah said.

"Come on Sarah," Ben said, "Don't talk like that. Look, I had been meaning to call you, but I got a call from the Pentagon yesterday. I've been ordered back to duty."

"What," Sarah asked.

"It's ok, it's ok," Ben said, "I've been asked to assist the JTF with the situation in New Orleans. Non-combat role, outside the city coordinating air traffic. I won't be back up north for a while."

"How long would that be," Sarah asked.

"We don't know," Ben said, "They're saying possibly a few weeks if we're lucky. Sarah, I want to work things out with you. Look, I'll give you a video call when we get set-up, ok?"

"Ok," Sarah said, "Ben, please be careful."

"I promise," Ben said, "Tell James I love him."

"I will," Sarah said.

"And Sarah," Ben said, "I love you as well," he then looked up, and saw something he didn't expect to see, "Listen, I'll call you tonight, ok? Bye."

He then hung up the phone before Sarah could say, "I love you too."

Amos walked back to the HMMWV, negating the fact he left his Ares-16 behind, and very quickly pulled the components out of the trunk before Ben came over his headset, "Amos, get to cover, now," he said as he put his phone away, and snatched up his rifle, "Three contacts twenty yards out."

"Friendly," Amos asked as he jumped behind the HMMWV.

"Unknown," Ben said as he examined them with the scope of his rifle to see they were carrying small arms, "Weapons confirmed, weapons confirmed."

"Weapons," Amos asked.

"Unknown AK variants," Ben said, "They are dressed the same as the ones we encountered earlier."

"I have eyes on," Chloe said as she rested her 416 against the side of the entrance to the ferry.

"Amos, keep hidden," Ben said as he adjusted his scope, "I'm going to fire a warning shot."

As he squeezed the trigger, the bullet hit the ground not inches from one of their feet.

They looked around to see where that shot came from before one of them pointed at Ben who cycled the bolt in his rifle.

As they raised their rifles, Ben's next shot was much higher than the first one he sent their way: center-mass in the middle hostile's chest, passing in-between his fourth and fifth rib, and spun him sideways from the impact.

The others raised their rifles, and fired: their rifles were on semi-auto so they were able to control the recoil, but they still missed Ben who ducked down to avoid getting shot.

Ben racked the bolt on his rifle as one of them ran towards the boat, and seeing his comrades dead at the foot of the entrance sent him into a rage that caused him not to be so cautious as he ran right into the aim of Chloe's HK416 which drilled four 5.56 rounds into his chest.

The final went to reloaded his rifle, only for Amos to gone prone next to the HMMWV, drawing his Glock, and shooting five bullets at his legs, three of which took his legs out from underneath, giving Ben a chance to finish him off.

Amos holstered his Glock, and ran back to the engine room where he set to work replacing the spark plugs, and pouring in new oil.

Five minutes later he walked out, and into his mic said, "That should do it," before walking to the driver's room, after pressing the starter button, the engine sputtered, but didn't start, he then pressed it again, more of a sputter, but still no start, he pressed it once more, and the engine roared to life, "IT'S ALIVE! IT'S ALIVE!"

"Good work," Ben said, "I'm going to call in the cavalry," he pulled out the flare gun, loaded an orange charge, and fired it directly upwards, hoping they could see it from there.

"It'll be a few minutes for them to reach us," Chloe said.

Amos then came out of the entrance to the top deck of the ferry, "You summoned the rest of our troops," Amos asked.

"Yep," Ben said as he sat down facing the direction they would be coming from.

"You know," Amos said as he sat across from Ben, "I heard a little bit of your conversation on the phone earlier. I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear."

"I didn't think you were," Ben said, "What of it?"

"Sarah," Amos asked, "Ex-girlfriend."

"Wife," Ben said as he reached into his pocket, retrieved his wallet, and handed it to Amos.

The picture was of Ben, back when he was a young buck in the Army because the rank on his sleeves were of a Corporal, the woman in the wedding dress was a young woman about five-foot-four, she had blonde hair, a paler skin tone, and brown eyes.

"I didn't know you were married," Amos said, "She's beautiful."

"Yea, she is," Ben said, "We started dating in high school, and got married just before she went off to Medical School."

"You were in the Army by then," Amos asked.

"Joined at 17," Ben said, "Made sniper straight out of basic, and was deployed not soon after which put a slight straight on our relationship. Then after we got married, not being around put more of a strain. Then along came James, and that's when things really got bad."

"Who's James," Amos asked, Ben went into his wallet, and pulled out another picture, handing it to Amos: the picture was of him and a little boy about four or five years of age who wore a Power Rangers tee-shirt, a pair of jean shorts, and he was being carried on Ben's shoulders along some kind of boardwalk, "Ah, he's your son."

"Our last family trip," Ben said, "Back when me and Sarah spoke to each other instead of yelling when James was in the room."

"Being an military family is always troubling," Amos said, "It always hurts when you have to leave at a moment's notice, and leave everything behind."

"That's why we split up," Ben said, "She hadn't been in a relationship like mine before so it was a foreign concept, having to leave one's family to protect one's country."

"The lesser of two evils," Amos said.

"I'd hate to break up your conversation boys," Chloe said, "But we have troops incoming."

Ben looked up to see that the JTF vehicles full of their fellow agents was heading their way.

Amos handed Ben his pictures back, which Ben put in his wallet and back in his pocket, and the two of them grabbed their weapons, and walked down to the entrance to see the thirty-plus agents walking up the ramp onto the ferry.

"Your handy work," Darius asked as he pointed over his shoulder at the dead soldiers.

"Our handy work," Ben said, "It was a team-effort."

"Indeed," Darius said as he put his hand on Ben's shoulder, "But you should know now that I'm making you my second. I give the orders to the agents, and you give the orders to the squads in the field. Welcome to my world now, Agent Jaeger."

 _Guess what happens next_ …


End file.
